Bearing Fruit
by Sagarian
Summary: After the incident at the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin decides to take matters of life and death into his own hands with consequences he probably should have seen coming. Arthur/Merlin
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Bearing Fruit

**Pairing**: Arthur/Merlin

**Genre**: Romance, Humor

**Rating**: M for language and intimacy

**Summary**: After the incident at the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin decides to take matters of life and death into his own hands with consequences he probably should have seen coming.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Merlin." Please don't hurt me.

**Spoilers/Warnings**: Follows episode 13 of season 1. There is only one "warning," but I don't want to spoil the (obvious) plot device. I can assure readers that there is no violence, non-con, or character death. Also, I don't know if this is a warning, but I do want to add that I'm no historian (nor botanist) and I haven't seen every episode of the program. I hope there's nothing so blatantly illogical that it causes heads to explode. And if so, then we'll just call this an AU, haha… Sorry.

Reviews/critiques will make me sing and dance for you.

* * *

The night that the raw power he had wielded from the sky transformed Nimueh from a formidable priestess into nothing more than negatively charged ions and the smell of burning ozone, Merlin lie in bed, thinking.

Arthur was alive. His mother was alive. Gaius was alive. Nimueh was dead.

And yet, the calculations that had been made to produce this (seemingly) ideal situation appeared to be in error. It was as if there were variables not accounted for, variables that would alter the whole nature of the equation. Would that not, in effect, make the outcome null and void, a logical fallacy that would soon come back to haunt them all?

If the balance had been restored to the universe, Merlin could not feel it. If anything, he felt like some deep, inexplicable force had been disturbed and the chain reaction that had been set in motion would be unknowable until it was too late.

As he had already witnessed, the trading of a life for a life did not create the most stable environment for achieving equilibrium.

With all the dangers (magical or otherwise) that this life seemed to bring to him and the ones he cared about, it didn't make sense not to have a back up plan that didn't involve "X must live!… And now Y is dead. Oh, I see what you did there."

Merlin turns to his side on the small bed, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and gripping his pillow at images assault his mind's eyes with aching clarity: _Arthur motionless on the medicine table. His mother prostrate on the floor disfigured by hundreds of pustules. Gaius as gray as the stone he was sprawled against_.

Things never would have had to reach that point if the spells from the book had cured Arthur in the beginning.

That was the other thing that disturbed him. Why hadn't they worked?

True, the Questing Beast was supposed to serve some kind of "special death," but Merlin suspected the spells would not have worked for any magic-related demise.

And if treating human lives like they were playing cards wasn't the way to go, Merlin had only one choice.

He had to find a way to restore life without destroying another.

It would seem impossible if not for the fact that Merlin had seen many impossible things, had been responsible for quite a few of them himself.

Besides, if the laws of nature really _were_ strict and unyielding and did not allow for the manipulation of its biological principles, then how could something such as magic (or Merlin himself) exist?

*~*

And that is how Merlin finds himself deep in forests many hours from Camelot, staring distastefully at the pitiful carcass of a robin at the base of a wide oak.

He had been able to start his journey pretty early that morning since there were several willing volunteers to care for Arthur while he was being (against his will) confined to limited activity.

Merlin had taken the (useless) spell book and a few provisions, and rode out into the green with only his bared magic to lead the way.

When he had come to an area where the air whispered passages from ancient tomes in hushed voices and the ground shimmered with visible particles of energy, he tied his horse off and went in just a little deeper.

With his mind set on re-animating dead tissue, Merlin had first looked upon the fallen animal with excitement. The bird had not been yet scavenged nor had opportunistic microbes visibly begun the process of decomposition.

_Perfect_, Merlin thinks, grimacing. _A fresh death_.

Despite the perfection of this "lucky" find, Merlin digs a tiny grave and buries the robin.

He reasons with himself that with this experiment being in its fledgling stage and the limitless horrors that could result from it actually _working_ being pretty likely, he had better start even smaller.

Besides, unleashing the unholy living dead upon the earth would definitely not win him any favors with the magic-fearing lot.

Merlin has not really fleshed out exactly what he is looking for until he sees a large patch of lilies growing strong and bright despite the lack of direct sunlight.

He finds one on the edge of the flowerbed, slightly apart from the others, and knows this is where he must start.

He raises his boot slowly, giving the unsuspecting flower a remorseful frown and silently apologizing, when he remembers-

It should be a magic-induced death. Like the others.

Somehow, using his magic makes this "murder" even more personal. He thrusts his hand towards it, fingers splayed, and looks away as the damning words leave his lips.

When he turns back, the sight of the charred remains of something once beautiful makes him almost want to give up this unpleasant venture and go back to trading souls.

Merlin goes down carefully to his knees in front of the dead plant and sets the spell book beside him. The ground is soft and slightly damp and he sinks into it. This close to the blooms, he can smell their light sweetness, an unfortunate contrast to the burnt remains of his sacrifice.

Without expecting success, he conjures the spells he used when Arthur was first bitten by the Questing Beast.

He is not surprised when the plant remains dark and crispy.

_Okay, then._

Merlin closes the book and pushes up his sleeves.

Without conscious thought, his eyes fall shut and both hands stretch out toward the dead thing.

A familiar warmth builds in his core as his magic churns over and within itself to surge instinctive and unchecked, merging without resistance into the external world. If there is a verbal articulation of his magic, it is represented simply by _life_, _birth_, _creation_.

Merlin doesn't know if he intones any spells aloud or if the fusing of his magic with the Earth's elements is visible over the flower, but he can _feel something change_. The world shifts and _something is different_.

Merlin loses his concentration and his power contains itself again.

A deep breath and he opens his eyes.

This time he _is_ surprised when the plant remains dark and crispy.

But, he is even more surprised to see the _new_ plant now growing beside it.

The wind is no longer speaking and the magic dusting on the ground seems to have edged away from him so that he and this affront to nature are alone in a bare circle. Even the other lilies seem to lean away.

It is a wonder he hadn't noticed it first because it is nothing like the other plants and stands out like the obvious aberration that it is.

There is one very verdantly green, twisted sprout thrusting up from the ground upon which a swollen fruit hangs heavily.

It's shaped like an apple, but spotted like a strawberry. When Merlin cups it in his palm, it feels as if he is holding solid gold.

Unsure what he should be doing (or thinking or feeling) in this situation, Merlin plucks the fruit from the stalk and digs his thumb into its fleshy side.

Its insides are pulpy like a cherry.

Merlin turns the fruit over and over in his hands, caressing its shiny, cool surface. He is fascinated by… his creation.

_His creation. Life from… his hands._

He brings the fruit under his nose to get closer to its ripe smell and he doesn't realize he's grinning like a fool until he feels the soft skin yield against his teeth.

_Probably shouldn't eat-_

The taste blooms over his tongue. It's honeyed nectar with a nutty musk.

_Okay. At least don't finish-_

He licks the last of the purplish juices from his fingers, the fruit already settling full and warm in his stomach.

Nothing happens that day. Or the next. Or for fourteen days. But then-

* * *

(Thank you for reading! Please continue to part 2...)


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The morning after dallying with the forces of life and death in the middle of a magic-tainted forest, Merlin wakes with the quiet notion to just let things take their natural course. He doesn't tell anyone about the fruit nor does he attempt any more "experiments."

He's not sure why he doesn't dwell on the awesome discovery or try to understand what exactly it was that his magic had borne.

He certainly remembers everything that occurred that day and distantly acknowledges its significance to his triumph over the cosmos.

But, ever since he ate that fruit, he's just been so… _content_.

It is with this (alarming) new perspective that Merlin is open to realize (or finally admit) the truth about that heretofore nameless force that has been bewitching him whenever in the presence (in body or mind) of Arthur.

And once he finally names it, everything falls into place.

Why else does he so readily offer his own life for him? Why else does the thought of losing him fill him with the kind of terror reserved for living a life without magic? Why else can he see the great man he will become one day underneath all that pratitude?

Yes, destiny, destiny, no escaping destiny. He knows that litany like it's a curse. Still, to feel what he feels for Arthur… It has to be love.

The dizzying rush he feels just thinking these thoughts only confirms his belief.

That same morning, he reestablishes his role as Arthur's manservant with renewed vitality and takes all the prince's wound care and rehabilitation duties upon himself.

Merlin has to admit he is relieved when Arthur makes a disparaging comment about his sling-wrapping abilities and Merlin finds himself automatically countering with a disparaging comment about his not-getting-bit-by-magical-death-beast abilities.

He wouldn't want this newfound love to turn him into an ass kisser.

When Arthur isn't being prattish, however, Merlin does turn into a big ball of sugar and he knows Arthur can feel the difference.

Merlin has waited this long and he is in no hurry to rush things. With that (unexplainable) feeling of contentment still singing within him, he lets things develop naturally as he knows they undoubtedly will.

With all the mystery surrounding their shared destinies, who is to say this wasn't a part of the plan all along?

In the time leading up to the fourteenth day post his display of godly powers in the forest, Merlin works on making Arthur admit this is not unrequited.

It doesn't take much.

Not that Merlin didn't have to do _some_ work. There were all those incidents of sassy backtalk and clever mocking, but there were also those sincere declarations of Arthur's future greatness and enthusiastic attentions to his happiness. Not to mention the extra effort Merlin had finally started to give to his appearance and presentation.

Apparently Arthur is turned on by being mercilessly knocked down from his pedestal only to be helped back onto it and he _really_ enjoys it when it's done by a Merlin who wears a hint of color under his eyes and bends over a lot.

They spend much of their time gazing at each other for moments too long to be coincidence, smiling secretively, and flirting on the edge of being provocatively bold only to shy away at the last minute in an obvious tease.

It finally crosses the line from subtext to boldfaced, triple-underlined, exclamation text one evening when Merlin is in Arthur's chambers, preparing a hot pack for his shoulder.

Arthur waits patiently (and gloriously bare-chested) at the edge of his bed, watching Merlin with darkened eyes while the warlock wraps a large heated stone under several layers of fabric.

Merlin settles on the bed perpendicular to the prince, letting his knee press against the outside of his thigh.

Arthur leans back a little on his arms, letting his head tilt carelessly toward his caretaker so he can watch his gentle ministrations.

He makes a (half obscene) noise of pleasure as the warmth from the stone penetrates deep into the scarred tissues.

Merlin holds the stone against Arthur's skin with one hand while the other sifts through tussled strands of blond hair. Arthur doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the intimate gesture. This has been coming for a long time.

"How does that feel?" Merlin asks in a low voice, although he already knows.

_Damn good._

Arthur just groans and alternates his gaze from Merlin's slender fingers pressing against his warming skin to that (entirely too) full mouth.

Knowing he's been closely observed, Merlin lets his lips stretch into that little half-smile that is like the equivalent of giving Arthur a quick fondle.

Merlin ends the thermal treatment just shy of twenty minutes. Arthur ranges his shoulder a bit, adding a couple of muscle flexes that aren't entirely necessary.

"All better?" the dark-haired boy smirks, laying his still warm hand against the healing scar and massaging with delicious pressure.

"You've got the magic touch," Arthur sighs with satisfaction.

Merlin looks down sharply and stutters an awkward laugh, pulling his hand away to palm his own now heated face.

_If you only knew…_

When he thinks he's sufficiently buried the fear that had flashed through his eyes, he glances back up at Arthur to gauge how badly he's blown the moment.

But, Arthur is grinning openly at him and he reaches over to lightly run his fingers down Merlin's reddened cheek.

"Can't take a compliment?"

"I guess when it's coming from you," Merlin shrugs, recovering seamlessly, "I tend to get a little suspicious."

Arthur makes a faux hurt-puppy face, pursing those already pouty lips even more.

"So, I'm just a bad guy here, am I? With no redeemable qualities?"

Merlin pretends to be contrite, although he can't resist rolling his eyes.

"You're right; I'm not being fair. Come on, try me again," he lightly taps Arthur's arm, "Compliment me."

Arthur has the nerve to look a little shy. This only makes Merlin all the more eager to hear what he will say.

Arthur is quiet for a few seconds more as if he's not sure he wants Merlin to know what he's been thinking. But, he is anything but a coward, so finally-

"It means a lot that you're the first person I see every morning. When you smile at me, it feels like I've already conquered the day before it's even started."

Merlin doesn't want to do that girlishly soft gasp of delighted surprise, but it comes out anyway. He bites his lip to contain it, but it's too late, and the gesture only succeeds in making him appear that much more a blushing virgin.

Arthur shrugs, "Oh, and you got a nice ass."

Merlin lightly kicks Arthur's calf before reaching over to take his hand.

"Ow," Arthur says unconvincingly, squeezing back.

Merlin shifts a little closer and tilts his head slightly right. Arthur takes the hint and meets him the rest of the way, pressing their open mouths together.

"Thank you," Merlin says quietly when they part just far enough to speak. He doesn't think he has to clarify this is not in response to the "nice ass" comment.

"Thank you," Arthur returns. He doesn't think he has to clarify this is not in response to the hot pack treatment.

A few more soft, wet kisses (all right, a lot more) and Merlin leaves for his own room.

You don't have to rush what is your destiny.

* * *

(Thank you for reading! Please continue to part 3...)


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

The night the nearly-forgotten fruit prepares for its transformation begins like every other ordinary night.

Merlin is changing into his bedclothes when there is a faint tingling on the skin of his stomach. He scratches at it absently while he finishes preparing to retire. He blows out all the candles and settles down into the bed.

The tingling in his belly steadily builds from "faint" to "discomfort." And it's actually less of a tingling now. It's more of… an itch.

Merlin's fingers dig into his skin a little harder, but the sensation is still only registering on a subcortical level.

He closes his eyes and sighs, adjusting the pillow under his head and ignoring the mild annoyance.

And the skin on his stomach abruptly goes into a rage.

Uttering an "oh" of surprise that sounds tiny even in his little room, Merlin pulls up his shirt and furiously drags his fingernails across inflamed skin.

It feels like the terrible rash he got as a boy the time he had been playing a hiding game in the forests near Ealdor with Will. The other boy had mischievously tripped him into a mass of prickly bushes (just as he was about to be caught) that later turned out to be a hotbed of urushiol resin.

Merlin struggles to the side of the bed and holds his cupped palm near his belly. A bright yellow ball erupts there and lets him get a good look at this "rash."

The way he feels, he expects to see irritated welts and puffy lines spreading from the central point of his bellybutton up to his neck and the tops of his thighs. Instead-

There is only one mark.

A reddened outline of raised tissue on his belly in a small cloud-like shape.

There's something very disconcerting about the severe lack of congruency between the minor physical manifestation of his pain and the intense sensation that assaults his nerves.

Merlin turns to leave his room with the intent to rummage through Gaius' salves, refusing to even entertain the notion that this is the result of vengeful (or clumsy) magic.

As soon as he passes the threshold however, he crosses the room toward the front door with sudden purpose (completely unknown to him) and walks right out into the night.

If he had been thinking clearly, he would have realized his initial dismissal of the possibility of a magical origin was a mistake.

_If he had been thinking clearly_, he would have been able to spare some shame, or at the very least some concern, at his state of inappropriate dress, for the night is young and there are a few denizens of Camelot still milling around to give him odd looks.

But, he's not really thinking at all. His executive functioning gives over his body's control to some unconscious mechanism that leads him unerringly straight to…

… Arthur's rooms.

The fact that he doesn't register any surprise could be due to it being too complicated an emotion right now or to it being such an obvious choice for a secret rendezvous.

Merlin pushes open the heavy door and walks in like he owns the place.

Arthur is sitting semi-sprawled in his chair, staring at the slowly puddling candles flickering on the table in front of him. He is obviously in a contemplative mood.

(Oh, Merlin is going to give him something to contemplate.)

The moment Merlin's eyes meet that of the prince's, the irritation on his stomach falls silent and something else slams in its place.

Merlin almost gasps aloud, shivering as an entirely new sensation fills him, a completely different kind of itch.

Arthur sits up a little straighter. He's not blind.

"Merlin?"

It's not _"Merlin, what are you doing here?"_ More of a _"Merlin… Is this what I hope it is?"_

Merlin lets the closing of the door and the engaging of the lock speak for him.

Arthur looks like he wants to leap out of the chair, but his will and ego alone keep him in check.

The young sorcerer is not trying to be sexy. He doesn't saunter across the room with exaggerated hip motions or bite down on his plumb bottom lip while glaring at Arthur from under hooded eyes.

He approaches him only as Merlin. Open, available, and… _his_.

For all of Merlin's lack of intentional seduction, Arthur's heart is still pounding painfully in his chest and every fiber of his being is desperate to claim him.

He forces himself to let Merlin make the first move (just in case he's actually fallen asleep at the table and the flare of heat he feels burning through him is actually the forgotten candles setting the room on fire).

Merlin comes to stand between his knees and just as Arthur is starting to appreciate the view, he turns around and gives him something just as pretty to look at.

Arthur's fingers twitch on the armrests, but he still doesn't move. He is rewarded for his self-control with a lapful of warm and pliant Merlin. Then he can't help winding his arms around his prize and pulling him down tight against his swelling arousal. He nuzzles the short hairs at Merlin's nape and nips at the sweet juncture where neck meets shoulder, roughly manhandling the offending fabric still covering the slighter boy.

Merlin pushes back into the cradle of the prince's hips and makes exposed little noises, giving Arthur free access to any part of him he wants. When Arthur realizes Merlin is offering everything to him, giving him permission to have Merlin in any way he desires, he nearly drags him to floor to take him right there.

The rare feeling of losing control is more frightening than it is stimulating and Arthur almost bites off his own tongue in order to focus on anything other than _want, need, now, mine_.

"I wouldn't have expected this from you," he says, his breathing labored but still managing complete sentences, "Not Mr. You-Can-Fetch-Your-Own-Damn-Wine-"

"Arthur, _please_."

Merlin begging? Arthur almost cums right there.

"Don't tease me tonight. I couldn't bear it."

The vulnerability in Merlin's voice pierces even Arthur's lust-hazed brain.

The prince sobers a bit, but doesn't say anything. He presses his lips to Merlin's shoulder instead in what the dark-haired boy suspects is part apology.

Merlin twists around to look at him. At this close proximity, neither can hide anything.

Arthur gazes into a raw desire that equals his own and gently caresses a cheek as flushed as his. The lust is still roiling in his belly, but his passion for this boy is so more.

"I need you," Merlin whispers in the little shared space that is only theirs, "I need you everywhere inside me."

Without any more words, Arthur takes Merlin to bed and proves he is worthy of the sorcerer's faith in him.

* * *

(Thank you for reading! Please continue to part 4...)


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Denial.

It's such a good caretaker. It reads you a fluffy bedtime story, holds the cup of warm milk to your lips so you don't even have to make an effort, passes its hand across your forehead with its familiar, comforting touch…

It tells you not to worry. It tells you everything is going to be all right. It tells you to just ignore that pesky little monkey trying to find perch on your back.

And Merlin had been doing just that. And doing it just fine, thank you very much.

He gets away with this for approximately three months.

Until one morning when he tries to sit up in bed.

And finds he can't.

Before he tries a second time, Merlin takes a moment to assess the situation. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head, his toes curling downward. He rubs at the itchy sleep in his eyes.

In this short time and with these simple movements, Merlin can confirm his brain still has control over his body and his limbs are still in good working condition.

He stares at the ceiling, his lips puckering in a thoughtful expression.

Maybe that false start was just the result of not being quite yet awake.

He stays in bed as long as he dares to avoid being late to rouse Arthur. He spends the time thinking about his golden prince and being warmed by the sappy little feeling the image conjures.

Very deliberately, he tries to sit up again. And _again_, something resists the flexion of his trunk and hips. He quickly abandons that strategy and rolls to his side to push up with his arms before he has to acknowledge what exactly is going on here.

He's out of bed now, so it doesn't really matter. Time to start the day as usual.

It doesn't take long for him to realize that Denial has abandoned him and he is left with those bastards Truth and Reality.

He is perched on Arthur's table (regular chairs just suddenly seem too _low_), steadily eating the prince's breakfast and chatting away obliviously when he finally notices the amused expression trained on him.

"What?" Merlin asks, not even finished swallowing his mouthful of sweet bread before his fingers are absently gathering the last of the sliced melon.

Arthur says nothing, just lets his gaze slide slowly to the plate before settling meaningfully on Merlin's (still moving) mouth before finally making its way back to Merlin's eyes.

Merlin tucks in the melon and reaches for the fork laying next to the eggs to spear a few lumps without irony or shame. He chews slowly, still glaring at Arthur but no longer perplexed. Now, he looks mildly hostile.

Arthur's brow raises just a bit more. It shouldn't be possible for him to look any more amused, but he manages it.

Merlin makes sure to scrape the last remnants of the meal from the plate before speaking.

"Your servants are starving, my Lord. I meant to say something sooner..."

Arthur can't contain it any longer. He lets out a sharp bark of a laugh and sits back comfortably in his chair. He obviously wants to enjoy this.

"Starving?" he bites the corner of his lip cheekily and gives Merlin the once-over, "Not the word I would use to describe the state of _my_ servants."

Merlin turns away sharply, his face burning as if from physical injury. With all the stinging pain he feels in that moment, Arthur may as well have slapped him.

His vision blurring with the prickly beginnings of tears, he drops the fork with a clatter against the table and struggles ungracefully (another humiliation) down from it to rush toward the door.

"Merlin?"

All trace of its earlier mirth gone, Arthur's voice is heard directly behind the nearly blind warlock before a strong grip clamps around his arms, effectively halting his hasty exit.

Merlin doesn't struggle and he stops trying to leave. Still, he refuses to turn around and when Arthur tries to hold him around his waist, he bitchily knocks his hands away.

"I didn't mean…" Arthur sighs, not sure the best tactic for handling this strange, excessively moody version of Merlin, "I'm not saying…"

Merlin crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the door, offering nothing but obviously waiting for something.

Arthur gets as close as he thinks his bristling beloved will allow and tries again, directing his words to the side of Merlin's jaw where he can add a light kiss to punctuate them.

"You're beautiful to me."

The tension in Merlin's shoulders starts to ease immediately.

Arthur notices and is relieved, automatically assuming Merlin is over whatever little fit he'd just had.

Arthur thinks this is the time for honesty (it's not).

He laughs good-naturedly and reaches for Merlin again, lightly rubbing his decidedly more substantial hips, "I always thought you were too skinny..."

The tension freezes its descent and starts back in reverse.

"I like the extra weight you've…"

A blue/red blur of movement and the loud sound of a slamming door later, Arthur finds himself suddenly alone in his chambers.

"Damn."

*~*

Merlin goes back into his and Gaius' rooms and finally, _finally_ acknowledges something isn't right.

(Why it took Arthur insulting his weight/appearance to make him face this, he doesn't know.)

Since Gaius is visiting a neighboring kingdom to trade medical secrets with their physician, Merlin doesn't bother trying to hide in his bedroom. He lifts his shirt where he stands and stares down at the protrusion of his belly.

It wouldn't have looked _too_ suspicious if Merlin wasn't such a naturally thin lad. As it is, the size of his stomach looks decidedly out of place on his small frame.

He and Arthur had spent many nights naked together, but the prince had probably assumed his developing girth was due to his suddenly _very healthy_ appetite. The prat probably believed _that_ was the result of their oh-so-strenuous lovemaking.

Merlin is worriedly rubbing the offending swell, when his hand passes over that strange marking he's had ever since that First Night (yeah, he thinks about it in title caps).

The little cloud outline is now filled in with raised and discolored skin.

So, that feeling of fluttering butterflies in his stomach wasn't _just_ his love for Arthur. It was also the miracle manifestation of that love.

Merlin collapses onto Gaius' workbench and lets himself cry.

In a way, his initial experiment had surpassed all his expectations and had succeeded in achieving him a bastardized version of his ultimate goal.

In a way, he had _created human life_.

With Arthur.

And therein lies the tragedy.

*~*

Merlin sits crying for longer than he can perceive.

For the first time in his life, not only does he not know what to do, he doesn't even know where to start.

This situation…

_No, Merlin. Don't be a coward._

This _baby_ would ruin everything.

For Arthur to have a bastard son before he is even king… With a man, no less. With a warlock, no lesser.

And there is _that_ to deal with.

There would be no denying the truth about himself if Arthur (or anyone) found out he was _pregnant_.

Also, just thinking about the logistics of birthing the baby from his male form is enough to drive him mad.

Was this the penalty for daring to believe it was within his rights to wield the power over life and death?

Merlin wipes his sniffles on his sleeve and glares miserably at the potion-cluttered table. He stares unseeing at the numerous vials and beakers of various concoctions. And then his vision shifts, focuses, and he actually _sees_ the potions.

An idea forms. A terrible, terrible idea.

But once Merlin has something (anything) to hold onto, it drives him with a single-minded obsession.

At Gaius' bookshelf, he frantically scans volume after volume of potion formulas, searching for something with enough toxicity to…

Is he really capable of doing this? When he can't even _think_ it?

It would be so simple. A few sips, a chemical reaction, a life terminated.

(_Why is the destruction of life so much easier than saving it?_)

Even with the severe magnitude of his misgivings, Merlin continues searching until he finds something suitable.

He returns to the workbench and with steady hands and a grim determination, mixes a potion that would almost surely cause a miscarriage without killing himself.

The poison appears heartbreakingly innocuous. It's purely clear and thin. It could be water.

Merlin stoppers the vial and holds it in his palm.

This is the only answer.

Arthur's destiny could continue unthreatened. Merlin's secret could continue to be so. His selfish mistake would never be allowed to…

"I thought you would return."

A quiet voice from the doorway startles Merlin, his attention snapping towards it with a short intake of breath.

Arthur is leaning against the frame, watching Merlin carefully.

"My stubborn nature tried to stop me from coming here," he continues softly, "But I found that even an hour was too long to be without you."

Merlin trembles where he sits, the vial a painful pressure in his hand.

Arthur suddenly crosses the room and Merlin wants to flee.

He is guided gently from the bench and into the prince's arms. He goes without resistance.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers with aching sincerity and takes Merlin's face in his hands to kiss him sweetly. His lips continue the apology: _I never meant to hurt you_. _You're everything to me_. _I love you_.

Merlin returns the kiss and his resolve not to destroy what he has here strengthens.

When Arthur pulls back enough to look at Merlin, his handsome face registers concern.

"Have you been crying?" he asks, rubbing a thumb under Merlin's shiny eye.

Merlin dismisses this with a shake of his head, slipping the vial into his pants' pocket.

"Yes, but it's fine. I'm okay now."

Arthur wants to believe him. He also wants to believe that if it isn't quite true now, he can make it true.

Merlin finds another balance mocks him: spending time with Arthur is both comforting and painful in equal measure.

* * *

(Thank you for reading! Please continue to the final part...)


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Merlin manages to keep his secrets for another three months.

He doesn't quite get a visit from Denial, but he forces the unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind and holds them there with the will of the gods. The vial of poison goes everywhere he goes, yet he still manages to keep the pregnancy on the fringe of his consciousness.

But the months seem to pass quickly and the extra two inches he gains around his waist once again force his hand. It is painfully obvious he is with child.

He can only go for so long borrowing Gaius' shirts and holding random objects in front of him any time he does anything. It's especially hard to hide from Gwen and Morgana who both possess that extra-sensory perception all women seemed to have. He knows they must suspect something is not quite as nature intended, but their friendship and loyalty keep them silent. They watch him closely though, often randomly speaking words of support even during situations that don't call for them. Merlin can only smile at them gratefully and pretend he has _no idea what brought that on_.

The worst part is having to constantly deny Arthur and make outrageous excuses for why he can't take his clothes off or let Arthur on top. Arthur has been graciously patient so far with Merlin's lies, but he is not stupid nor a saint.

And in the end, the warlock is just too exhausted with having to maintain the illusion of Normal-Merlin to let this go on any longer.

He knows the exact moment he has unconsciously decided to take the poison.

He is lying in bed one morning, staring at nothing, when a terrible pain erupts in his stomach and a sudden flood of heat and vertigo follow. Without remembering how he gets there, he finds himself crouched on the floor over a puddle of his own sour sick.

He presses a shaking hand up to his still-drooling mouth and wants to call out for Gaius, for help. But, he knows he can't and he is forced to lie in disgrace beside the sticky, disgustingly-fragrant pile until he feels semi-human again.

He passes the rest of the day in a zombiefied stupor (now truly a product of his own long-forgotten experiment).

He carries out his usual duties, interacts with the people who cross into his sphere of consciousness, and restrains himself from spontaneously screaming for death as loudly as he can.

In Arthur's chambers after dinner, he sits up against the headboard on the bed (with a strategically-placed pillow on his lap), trying to learn how to sew so he can fix the tear he put in one of Gaius' shirts and keep his mind and hands busy in the process.

"You know," Arthur muses, lying on his side while watching Merlin's pitiful attempts with amusement, "I can get the seamstress to do that for you."

"I know. It's just that I borrowed it and…"

"I was wondering why I hadn't seen it before," Arthur interrupts and snatches the shirt out of Merlin's hands.

"Arthur!" he protests, holding his hand out in the hope that he will just give it back. He can't even reach forward to take it with his boulder-sized stomach in the way.

"Whose shirt is this?" Arthur frowns, trying to place its owner.

_Certainly not royalty_, he thinks.

"What does it matter?" Merlin gives him an incredulous look, flexing his fingers in an obvious gesture of demand for the clothing.

"Why are you wearing another man's shirt?" Arthur asks as if it's a perfectly reasonable question.

Not as far as Merlin is concerned.

"Don't tell me you're jealous."

"What? No!… Why? Whose shirt is this?"

Any other day, this would be as amusing as it is frustrating.

Not today. Merlin can't deal with this right now.

He starts blinking a little too rapidly and his arms come up to cross over his chest.

_Oh, fuck me,_ Arthur thinks.

He crawls over to Merlin and grabs his wrists, pulling them down to the bed so he can lean in and steal a kiss.

"It's Gaius' shirt," Merlin explains in a wet voice, "I borrowed it because… because-"

"It doesn't matter," Arthur rescues, tweaking Merlin's nose, "I was being silly. You keep trying to sew up that tear. I'll be back."

He returns about a half hour later with a "Ta-da!" and a tray carrying a bowl of lemon pudding and a single flower.

A lily.

"I know how much you like this dessert so I had them whip it up for you in the kitchens. Well," he shrugs with an arrogant grin, "They think it's for me."

Merlin tries to smile around the sudden constriction in his throat and accepts the tray.

"Can you… can you bring me a little powered sugar?" He bats his lashes and looks up at Arthur with an innocent expression, "Pretty please?"

The prince drops a kiss onto the top of Merlin's head and turns to leave with a sigh.

As soon as the door closes, Merlin digs into his pants' pocket and retrieves that damnable vial that has been his constant companion for months.

Before he can change his mind, he dumps all the poison into the pudding and stirs it in.

The already moist dessert shows no sign of its now deadly composition.

Merlin dips the spoon in slowly and gathers a substantial lump, his uncontrollable shaking depositing more than half of it back out as he lifts it from the bowl.

He feels feverish, his breathing short and strained, and there's a hot pressure building in his head so that it's difficult to focus.

It almost feels as if he's already poisoned himself.

He sets the spoon back in. Gathers more of the pudding that is going to kill his and Arthur's baby.

He raises it to his parted lips.

When Arthur returns with the sugar, the first thing he sees is a destroyed-looking Merlin standing in the middle of the bedroom. The next thing that registers is the lemon pudding painting the north side of his wall.

"Merlin?" Arthur steps further in, closing the door behind him.

The sobbing boy doesn't even seem to realize Arthur is there. He is bent over, holding his stomach as if it pains him.

Arthur hurries over and tries to see his face.

"What's wron-"

"I couldn't do it," Merlin bursts out, suddenly clinging to Arthur and trembling so violently it's like he's about to fly apart. "I couldn't…"

"I don't know what you're saying," Arthur pleads, frustrated, "Are you hurt?"

Merlin shakes his head and the vise around the prince's chest eases just a bit. His gentle hands smooth back dark hair and wipes away still-falling tears.

Merlin takes several calming breaths, trying to get a hold of himself enough to explain. He owes Arthur that much.

But when he sees the anxious yet trusting look in Arthur's eyes, he finds he can't speak.

He shows him instead.

Merlin carefully takes Arthur's hands in his and guides them under his shirt to press against his extended belly. When their joined hands lie over the distention, he can almost feel the warmth penetrate deep inside and that near constant fluttering stops almost immediately. It is as if the little life inside is soothed by his fathers' touch.

Merlin can see physically see the thoughts and feelings warring within Arthur. His reason, _his sanity_, does not want to let him come to the obvious conclusion of Merlin's confession.

When it finally does, his confusion and fear only deepen.

"How?" he whispers, searching Merlin's face frantically for an answer that will make sense of all this. He still holds onto Merlin's stomach tenderly as if afraid of disturbing something fragile.

Merlin slowly removes his hands from over Arthur's and holds them over his pregnant belly.

Watching Arthur carefully, he brings his two index fingers together, the light of his magic already flickering between them. He moves his fingers in a wide arc and touches them together again.

A golden, glittering heart-shape sparkles over their baby.

Arthur gapes open-mouthed at the fantastic sight, his breathing a forced rush from his lungs.

"Merlin…" He looks past the heart to the sorcerer who conjured it, letting him see how much this secret has hurt him.

Merlin stares back with everything laid bare, desperate for Arthur to understand.

_I do trust you. I didn't want this burden to be yours. The purpose of my life is to love and protect you._

And somehow… Arthur hears him.

Merlin lets the heart disperse into the air and leans forward to rest his forehead against Arthur's, the baby safe and happy between them.

And there is that feeling of contentment again, as if Merlin has eaten another miracle fruit.

"Do you know already?" Arthur asks after a long moment. The smile in his voice tugs at Merlin's own lips. "Can you tell?"

"Tell what?"

Arthur lifts his head to gaze affectionately at Merlin, thumbs caressing his ample sides in little circles.

"Prince or princess?"

_The End_

* * *

**(That's it! I greatly appreciate everyone who took the time to read this!)**


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